


Shards

by convolutedConcussion



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/M, Moderate Tones of Hurt/Comfort?, Past Child Abuse, Poor Tagging By Author, mentions of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 09:38:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8619358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convolutedConcussion/pseuds/convolutedConcussion
Summary: Based on a prompt I got where we learn a little more about Wynonna's past.





	

This thing between them is still new enough that it’s the smallest things that get him—the way she looks like an absolute _disaster_ in the morning and how she curls under his arm on the couch and her voice late at night, so quiet he can barely hear her.  It’s those rare, unburdened smiles, and how she goes barefoot at the homestead or at his apartment—it’s the taste of cinnamon on his tongue when she kisses him after brushing her teeth.  It shouldn’t _be_ this easy, but, given that everything around them is constantly on the verge of going to shit all around them, it’s not exactly a hard choice to just let it be.  When they get to the empty homestead that day, having left Waverly back at the station to _keep Nicole company_ , which is not exactly procedure, he presses a glass of water into Wynonna’s hands and she scowls but accepts it—he’s not gonna stop her from drinking, not really even gonna try because it’s not the kinda thing you force, but he _can_ shame her into staying hydrated.

For a while, he stands by while she explains the plot of some ridiculous movie she’d watched—there’s a shark that’s also a bear?  He’s not exactly sure—and Dolls wills himself not to be so charmed by the way she describes the convoluted plot, the way her eyebrows jump with every emphatic point.  He fails, mostly.  Somewhere along the way, though, he loses track of the story in spite of doing his earnest best to listen carefully.

“You really paid attention, huh?” he teases when she stops for breath.

The look she gives him is pure disdain, but it’s softened when she tips her head back to kiss him.  “Don’t be rude.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against her lips, pushing her hair back. “I’ll be nice.  Continue, please.”

She hums thoughtfully.  “I just remembered we have the _whole house_ to ourselves,” she says, smile growing wicked and eyes glinting.  “I’m thinking we could find something more fun to do.”

“Backgammon?” he suggests innocently.

Barking a hard laugh, she twists in his arms to set her empty glass on the counter.  It must be right on the edge because the next moment there’s a crash and he _feels_ her go rigid, face draining of all color, eyes wide and—and _scared_.  At the same time he’s saying, “Don’t move,” she takes a quick step away.  There’s a crunch and she lets out a long curse.  She lets him boost her up onto the counter before he hurries to the bathroom for the first aid kit they’d gotten when Waverly got shot.

“Thanks,” she mutters, irritated, bending uncomfortably to tweeze shards of glass out of her freely-bleeding foot as he sweeps up the rest.

Once the mess is cleaned up, he lets the silence rest for a few moments before he asks, “Are you okay?”

“I can’t get it all,” she scowls, expression closed off.

He pulls up a chair and sets to work finding the smaller bits she couldn’t get.  The whole time, she glowers off into the middle distance.  He asks again if she’s okay.  When she looks down but more through him than _at_ him, he changes it to a quiet, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

 _“No,”_ she breathes.  Then, as if to herself, “It’s _stupid.”_

“I can assure you it’s not,” he says gently.    Because she’s still not quite meeting his gaze, he continues, “You don’t _have_ to, but you _can._ ”

“It’s, um,” she takes a shaky breath and offers a watery smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.  She seems to be collecting herself before, “It’s just that, for a second, I forgot Daddy was dead.”  Her voice cracks a little on the last word.  Absently, she starts ripping a cotton ball into small pieces of fluff.

“Did he hurt you?”  He does his best to keep his voice even.  It’s not like he never suspected it—she and Waverly and even Willa (not that he ever really spoke _to_ Willa) have always been pretty tight-lipped about it, but the signs are glaring if you look for them.  She doesn’t really talk to him about her father, not when she can avoid it and certainly not at length.

Brow furrowing, she bites her lip and makes a frustrated noise in the back of her throat.  “Doesn’t feel _right_ to talk about that when I—”  She stops, gives an affected shrug.  “He drank, you know?  Got mean.”

“You’re allowed to be upset about that,” he says, and _now_ she’s looking at him.  “Something—an _accident_ that happened when you were a _child_ doesn’t make it okay.”

Her heels kick dully against the cabinet door under her as her expression grows clouded, doubtful, and he feels a rush of—anger, maybe, at people who never saw this, or maybe it’s just frustration that he can’t _make_ this better. 

“I can’t believe you’re so…”  She doesn’t finish the thought, trails off hoarsely.  The _moment_ he sees a tear start to roll down her cheek, he’s on his feet and tugging her into his chest.  Her arms go around his middle as she buries her face into his shirt and hiccups several quick, ragged breaths.  It’s a long time before he hears a muffled, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” he whispers, rubbing her back.  “You don’t need to apologize.”  _Not about this, not to me, not ever._   She doesn’t loosen her grip for a few more minutes.  When she eventually does start to relax, he says, “You know no one in this house is gonna hurt you, right?”

“Of course,” she sniffs, swiping at her cheeks.  “Plus, I mean—I’d staple your dick to your stomach if you ever laid a non-sexy hand on me.”

“I know you would,” he assures her honestly, cupping her jaw to press a closed-lipped kiss to her forehead.

After another beat, she takes a deep breath and tilts her head back.  “So,” she starts, voice lighter now.  “Since I’m all injured, do you think you could do that _super_ sexy thing where you carry me to bed?”

“Oh, I guess,” he sighs, mockingly put-upon but smile soft.

Before he can move to pick her up, she nudges her lips to his, slow and gentle and altogether too tender.  “Thanks.”

**Author's Note:**

> UMMM so yeah like... based off of [this ask](http://johnisntevendead.tumblr.com/post/151373329526/hey-idk-if-you-are-taking-prompts-but-if-you-are) I received. I hope this was what you were looking for?
> 
> Thanks for reading, as always, and feel free to swing by my [Tumblr](http://johnisntevendead.tumblr.com) where I never stop talking about this show!


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